#pavellan

From the shadows of an alleyway in the upper Minrathous market, a pair of hands snatched a Venatori from the street and pulled them into the dark. The two struggled for a moment, before the shadowed-elf snapped his enemy’s neck and deposited his body on the cobblestone below.  

The air smelled of putrid decay and magical fire. Tendrils of Blight invaded every nook and cranny the city had to offer.  It crawled over buildings, overturned carriages, and strangled anyone who foolishly strayed into its path.  Screams echoed between the many shops and eateries, creating a horrific choir for a truly dreadful night. 

Somewhere in the chaos, Elgar’nan hunted for Magisters. 

But then, Inquisitor Lavellan stepped into the light to hunt for him. 

Months of cutting through Darkspawn turned the Inquisitor into an entirely new creature.  He cleaved through Venatori without thinking.  He beheaded Hurlocks, and stalked Emissaries.  He grappled anyone with ill-intent into melee range, and brought them down with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior.  Battle and bloodshed were things he knew well, they hummed a song through him, something old and deep that settled in his bones. 

When Morrigan had arrived at Skyhold, she hadn’t needed to say anything. The look on her face said enough: Rook needed his help, and if he could do something to take down the remaining Evanuris, then he could do something about the Blight.  He left the Inquisition to Cullen and Cassandra, followed Morrigan through the Eluvian, and arrived in the remains of the Shadow Dragon’s base.  Its crumbled foundation and blood-splattered walls chilled him to the bone, for he had known many of the faces that called the base home.  His only solace came in the form of a crystal on a cord.  It glowed beneath his chestplate, reminding him of the man, alive and well, on the other end.

With the fight for Thedas reaching a head, Dorian planned his return to Tevinter.  Rook needed all the help he could get, and no Shadow Dragon would abandon their home when it was in such dire need.   

Lavellan inched his way through Minrathous.  He listened and watched from hidden places, marking where Elgar’nan, Rook, and his various allies were last seen.  A Venatori agent mentioned Fen’harel by name, invoking Elgar’nan to cut him down, as the wolf had walked right into his trap. Rage boiled in his gut at the familiar name, but before he could deal with Solas, he needed to connect with some old friends.

A large metal gate stood before him.  

He eyed it warily, for it looked normal, despite the tendrils and spores that festered nearby.   Caution led to him picking up a stone.  He chucked it at the gate, and winced when it collided with an electricity glyph.  The stone shot away from the fence, and landed next to his feet, one of its sides black and charred. He began to search the area for the off-switch.  

“You usually need papers and identification to get through here,” A voice whispered in his ear. 

“Indentification?” Lavellan answered. “Surely you’re well-known enough to supersede that rule.”   He found the glyph’s source in the tower next door, and he used his dagger to connect with the inlaid stone.  The magic sizzled before disconnecting.  

The gate opened, the hinges groaned as the double doors collided with the stone walls protecting the capital city from the world beyond.  Cloaked figures passed through the gate, and when they drew back their hoods, Lavellan faced a disheveled Dorian Pavus and Maevaris Tilani. 

Lavellan moved without thinking. He cradled Dorian’s face in his calloused hands, and brought him in for an overdue kiss.  Months of tension and worry passed between them.  No amount of calls or reassurances held a candle to seeing one another in person.   The last time the Archdemon attacked Minrathous, the Venatori took the opening to raid the Shadow Dragon’s base, hanging anyone they could in the streets.  Dorian had intercepted the Archdemon, and then fled the city with Maevaris, leaving their home behind so they might live to fight another day. 

That day had come.  

Dorian reassured Lavellan by carding his gloved fingers through his hair.  He returned the kiss with equal desperation.  Then, when he pulled back for breath, he rested his forehead against the sprawling branches of Lavellan’s Vallaslin.  “Are you alright?” Dorian asked.  He held Lavellan’s gaze, staring into the heat of a thousand suns. 

“I’m okay,” Lavellan dropped his head to Dorian’s shoulder.  His hands fell too, slinking around the mage’s back to pull him close.  “Are you?” 

“Better now,” Dorian said.  “I missed you.” 

Lavellan sighed. “Let’s finish this, and bring our children home.” 

Dorian laid a final kiss against Lavellan’s hair before he drew back.  He took the staff from his back and tapped it on the ground.  A force flowed from him to collide with Lavellan and Maevaris.  Energy shimmered over their forms. The barrier shielded them as they turned to face the city, where allies and enemies alike warred over Thedas’ future. 

Lavellan carved through a rage demon.  Its putrid breath spit embers into his face as they stared one another down.  The creature refused to die until the sword cleared its body, leaving it to smolder out as two halves on the ground. Dorian and Maevaris hounded the Venatori mage that had summoned the demon. They traded volleys of magic, but it was ultimately Maevaris’ kill, as she froze the other woman in place. 

A few feet down the path, Harding and Taash dispatched another group of Venatori.  Harding had found the group, and met them at a cross street.  She and Taash had been tracking Rook’s movements, desperate to catch up with him before he found Elgar’nan.  They weren’t far behind him when they were ambushed, but time wasn’t in their favor. 

“Come on!” Taash roared over their shoulder.  “He went this way!” 

“Do they never tire?” Maevaris wiped the sweat from her brow.  

“Ah, to be young again,” Dorian led the trio forward, the eyes of the twin-vipers atop his staff aglow. 

They came upon a door, recently slammed shut by familiar faces.  Rook and the others had been chased by enemies and had their backs against the wall.  Lavellan rushed the Venatori and forced them away from the door.   He bared his teeth as they bounced back, two immediately turned on him with their swords raised.  A streak of lightning arched over his head and lit up the dark, before it collided with the rest of their enemies.  Chain lightning arched between them. Their bodies spasmed, their weapons fell to the ground, and they were easily dispatched by the others.  Around the corner, members of the Grey Wardens appeared. Antoine and Evka had followed the sound of the fighting to reach them. 

Lavellan had just finished dragging his sword from the second body when Taash started to kick the locked door down.  Their booted foot splintered the wood on the first impact, and the second sent the door flying backward to collide with the inner-wall.   Dorian rushed in first, prepared for a fight, but all he found were Rook, Lucanis, and Neve staring at him with wide eyes. Morrigan stood to the side with Bellara, the elven woman hunched over, clutching at her Blight-ridden body. 

“What are you doing here?” Rook gaped. “You can’t be here!” 

“What?” Dorian retorted. “You expected me to miss all the fun?” 

“You’re the future Archon.  If we survive this.” 

“All the more reason I should be here.” 

Lavellan stepped into the room.  He sheathed his bloody sword as he joined the others.  His armor, usually golden, now had dirt and ash caked into the Inquisition’s insignia.  “Where are Elgar’nan and Solas?” 

“We left Solas with the Archdemon.  He sent us ahead to deal with Elgar’nan.” Rook took the Lyrium Dagger from his belt, and showed it to the group.  “He said he wanted to help us.” 

“Did he?” Lavellan’s eyes narrowed. “Do we believe him?” 

“I don’t know.” Rook frowned toward the dagger.  “No, not after what he did to me.” 

Lavellan and Dorian shared a look, but Maevaris interrupted their conversation. 

“Let us find our other allies, and find a better place to discuss this.  We can’t stay in the open.” 

Rook nodded, then spared a worried glance in Bellara’s direction before leading them into the fray once again. 

A small group stood around a table.  Rook, Lavellan, Dorian, Maevaris, Morrigan, and the other members of the Veilguard.  They stood over a map of Minrathous,  much of its streets, buildings, and hidden passages were marked off by scribbles of ink.  The Blight made the city nearly impossible to traverse, and even as they debated their options, Solas baited the Archdemon into attacking him.  

At the moment, they grappled with the possibility of binding Solas to the Fade. 

“That would require blood magic,” Rook said.  “We shouldn’t do it unless we have to.” He pulled another dagger from his belt. One that looked identical to the Lyrium dagger.  “What about this? It’s powerful, but it doesn’t have the same properties as the original dagger.  We could give this to Solas, and prevent him from completing his ritual.” 

“You want to do a bait-and-switch on the Dread Wolf?” Taash asked. 

“It’s risky, mi vida.” Lucanis frowned.  “Would it not be best to strike him down while he is weakened from the battle?” 

Lavellan had his hands face-down on the table.  He stared holes into the map, and as the many markers blurred together, he thought back on the time he knew Solas.  Really knew him, as a mortal among fellow men.  They had fought together, lived together, and laughed together during one of the hardest years of his life.  They didn’t always agree, but he had still viewed Solas as a friend.   For the past decade, he had tried hunting him down with the hope that he could be reasoned with.   That hope had died with Varric, and in the months where Lavellan desperately tried to protect the South, he fantasized about killing Solas himself.   No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reconcile with the knowledge that his best friend had been murdered.   Murdered by someone they both cared for, and who they had believed could be swayed. 

Lavellan swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat.  “Is there any chance at all that Solas could be reasoned with?” 

“Did he listen to reason when you spoke to him last time?” Morrigan posed. 

Lavellan met Rook’s gaze from across the table. 

“I’ve had to spend a lot of time with Solas,” he said. “At times, I think I see glimpses of the man you and Varric spoke about.  I think I see regret and guilt in his eyes, but then he says or does something that implies the opposite.  He’s manipulated, tricked, and trapped me over these passing months, and everything instinct in my body tells me not to trust him.  But what would Mahvir the Merciful do, if he were in my position?”

Lavellan took a deep breath.  He hadn’t heard that title in a long time.  Years ago, when he served judgments to people who had done wrong,  he always gave them a second chance to do better.  Did he have the heart to do the same now?

“I would have him face his mistakes, and ask him not to make another.” 

“And if he persists?”

“I would kill him.” 

Rook nodded, and then withdrew from the table.  He turned the fake dagger over in his hands, lost in thought.  Lucanis withdrew next, and came to stand at his side.  He placed a hand on Rook’s shoulder, and whispered in his ear. 

The rest of the table moved after that, retreating to secluded corners to prepare for the battle ahead.  Lavellan moved to the hearth, where someone had started a fire.  Dorian joined him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Amatus? Because if you’re putting on a brave face…” 

Lavellan tore his gaze from the fire.  Dorian looked at him with wide, sad eyes.  He smiled.  “I’m fine Dorian, I promise.” 

Dorian stepped closer and intertwined their fingers.  “You sound tired, why don’t we find a place to rest for a moment.” 

“No,” Lavellan shook his head. “I’ll rest when this is done.” 

Dorian frowned. “We both know that’s not true.” 

“What would you do? About Solas?” 

“Whatever resulted in the least casualties.  If Rook believes he can talk him down without losing another of his friends… Then he should try.” 

“Even after everything he did?” 

“You and Varric believed he could be saved for a reason.” Dorian kissed Lavellan’s shoulder.  “And Varric knew the risks when he tried to talk with him before.  I think, perhaps, Solas is lost even to himself.” 

Lavellan turned back to the fire, and imagined what it might feel like to stop the Dread Wolf, once and for all. 

They had sent Rook ahead. He ascended a Blight tendril to reach Elgar’nan, while the Veilguard’s allies rallied themselves for another wave of attacks.  The Venatori closed in on their hideout, and didn’t hesitate to kill the first person they saw.  Lavellan joined the front lines, his sword and shield at the ready as he charged into battle.  Another barrier wrapped itself around him as he cleaved through his enemies, caught them with his grappling chain, and shouted commands to those around him. 

Minutes turned to an hour before the stream of enemies started to slow.  Lavellan fought to catch his breath, while a fierce attack to his ribcage had him doubled-over in pain.  A pair of hands caught him by the waist and heaved him to lean against a nearby wall.  

Dorian looked him over, and then checked his prosthetic arm for any wear and tear.  When he finished his assessment, he placed a hand on Lavellan’s chest, and eased a healing spell into his over-worked body. 

Lavellan gasped and groaned against the magic.  His ribs set, his bruises healed, and the pain behind his eyes dulled to a subtle ache.  “Ma Serranas, Vhenan.” 

“You can’t keel over on me yet,” Dorian said. “I’m sending you ahead.” 

“You’re what?”

“Morrigan’s already gone,” he explained.  “If Solas will listen to anyone, it would be you.  You’re the one who fought to save this world with him at your side.  You’re who helped fix his mistake last time, now go stop him from making another.” 

“Dorian, I-” 

Dorian kissed him.  “Save it for when you get back.” 

Lavellan’s heart skipped a beat.  “Be here when I get back.” 

“I will,” Dorian said, with a wry smile.  “I’ve a country to rebuild.” 

Lavellan took Dorian’s hand and brought it to his lips.  He kissed the ring on his left hand, and then he turned to face the horizon, where Rook and the others fought on. 

Lavellan followed the carnage.   The others had left a clear path for him to follow, and it didn’t take long until he stood over Elgar’nan’s body. He stared at the fallen Evanuris, an elf who looked oddly mortal in his final moments.  His mouth fell open in a permanent scream, and his lifeless eyes stared toward the sky.    In another life, Lavellan prayed to this man.  He left offerings at his altar, and told stories of his exploits.  He felt sick knowing that now, almost unable to accept that he had devoted himself to a monster. 

Before he could fall into that dark place, the one that constantly tried to pull him under, he moved on.   He soon heard the sounds of a struggle, and he took a staircase upward.  He came to a door, and as he peered beyond it, he found Solas standing above Rook with the Lyrium dagger in his hand. 

“You have a chance to save the world,” Rook pleaded with him, barely up on his knees. “Bind yourself to the Veil and stop it from falling.” 

“I cannot.”  Solas insisted.  “To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far.” 

Grief struck Lavellan like a knife to the gut.   Instantly, he returned to the moment he learned about Varric’s death.  He had read Harding’s letter twice over, unwilling to believe the words on the page.   He moved without thinking, taking the steps to reach Solas two at a time. 

“Even if those you wronged asked you to stop?”

Solas turned to him.  For the first time in nearly a decade, they came eye-to-eye with one another.  A friend to a friend, an enemy to an enemy.  

Lavellan held his hands aloft, as a sign of good faith. 

Solas lowered the dagger.  “Inquisitor.” 

“You were my friend,” Lavellan said.  His voice was raw and haggard. “We saved the world together. Can’t we save it one more time?” 

“Inquisitor, I am sorry, but I cannot.  Long before we met, I failed my oldest friend.  She died for that failure.”  Solas turned his back on them.  “If I leave the Veil in place, I am destroying the world she wanted.” 

Fear welled in Lavellan.  He climbed the final steps, and helped Rook to his feet once he reached the landing.  

“And I will have…” Solas continued, “She will have died for nothing.”  He raised the dagger one last time, and pointed it toward the tear in the Veil. 

Lavellan sprang to grab him, but he’s beat to the punch by Morrigan, who soared through the sky in her crow form, and descended on the group within a plume of smoke.  She rounded on Solas, circling him as she stared him down.  “And who’s fault is that, Dread Wolf?” 

Solas took a step back. “Morrigan?”

“One appellation among many I wear.”  She closed in. “I have been an advisor to Orlais, Witch of the Wilds, Daughter of Flemeth… And once, long ago, an old friend.” 

Solas’ gaze flickered over her for a moment.  Disbelief, and then recognition stormed through his blue eyes. 

Rook took an idol from his belt.  “Mythal lives on in her, and in this.” 

Morrigan took the idol, and with her connection to the former Evanuris, she summoned her spirit to apparate before Solas. 

Mythal, as she was during the time of Arlathan, appeared as a spirit before them. 

Solas gasped, and for the first time since waking up in this new world, his mind emptied of things to do.  He could not stop this, or bury the pain seeing her brought him. 

“Mythal,” He bowed his head.  Even after all this time, his instincts from centuries ago won out.  He cowered  before her,  and could not bear to look her in the eye. 

Mythal canted her chin, and looked down on him with tenderness.  “I pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you to war.  I used your wisdom as a weapon… And it broke you.” 

“The things I’ve done…” 

“Are not for you to bear alone, my friend. The many wrongs we did, we did together.”  She approached Solas, even as he cupped a hand to his face and shuddered at her presence.  She laid a gentle hand to his shoulder.  “I release you from my service.” 

Those words, ones that should have been said centuries ago, caused such anguish to gutter through Solas.  His many griefs and regrets welled to the surface as he keeled over, and placed his hands on his knees.  He struggled to breathe as Mythal’s spirit returned to the idol. 

Lavellan took her place, and crouched before Solas.  He looked into the other man’s eyes, and pleaded: “You are free to find a better way.” 

Solas gasped, and then sobbed.  His entire body convulsed as he grappled with hurts, both old and new.  Then, he straightened, and looked into the faces of even more people that he had wronged.   He used the Lyrium dagger to cut his palm.  Blood welled to the surface, and trickled to the stone beneath them.  “My life force now sustains the Veil.  With every breath I take, I will protect the innocent from my past failures.  The Titans’ dreams are mad from their imprisonment.  I cannot kill the Blight, but I can help to soothe its anger.”  He passed the dagger to Rook.  “I will go, and seek atonement.” 

He turned from them, and approached the open Veil.  “Thanks to you, I now can see the way.” 

In a final flash of light, he vanished, and their world continued to turn. 

The sun rose on Minrathous.  

On Thedas. 

Rook and his allies returned to the streets, where people climbed from their hiding places to celebrate their saviors.  Lavellan slipped from the crowd, and circled back to where he had left Dorian.  He found his man in a circle of others,  Maevaris, Tarquin, and even Ashur greeted him as he approached. 

Dorian whirled to face him, and just like they started, they found themselves in one another’s arms.  “Amatus, did you just save the world?” 

“It wasn’t me,” Lavellan shook his head. “Morrigan summoned Mythal, the real Mythal, and she released Solas from her service.  She freed him, and it was like a cloud lifted. He wasn’t twisted from his purpose.” 

“Like the Spirit of Wisdom we helped him save, all those years ago?”

“Except this time, Wisdom didn’t need to die.” 

Dorian pulled him tighter, resting his chin atop the elf’s head.  “You were right, and so was Varric.”